


Confessions

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Denmark Street musings [2]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-16 02:52:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14802966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Sometimes we do stuff we really shouldn’t do, because we’re human and messy.I’ve wandered back to before they’re together.





	1. Charlotte

**Author's Note:**

> So many things on my list, but this is where my brain went today. I don’t normally post stuff until I have a pretty clear idea of the whole thing, but let’s see where this goes...

Strike drifted slowly to consciousness, aware first of all of more than a hint of whisky hangover, and second of a nagging sense of dread that he couldn’t place. He rolled his head to the side, bleary eyes opening, saw the tangle of dark hair on the pillow next to him, and it all came rushing back.

Charlotte.

 _Fuck_ , he thought. _You fucking idiot, Strike_. He sighed, raised an arm over his eyes and lay perfectly still, a mild headache nagging at his temples, and waited for the axe to fall. _How did you allow this to happen?_

He’d known he wasn’t going to be able to sleep. Sleep was becoming more elusive lately, which he refused to admit to himself had anything to do with Robin. With nothing on the television to hold his interest, he’d gone back down to the office to work, and on impulse had taken the whisky bottle and a glass with him. He’d still been there at 11pm when his phone pinged, a text from Charlotte to say she was outside the front door and could she come up. He could hardly leave her standing on the street, tempting though it was.

Looking back, there had been an inevitability to it. He’d half known as he pressed the door release that they’d end up in bed together. It was the only reason she’d call by so late - some complicated revenge on Jago, no doubt, Strike didn’t really care about the details - and in his sombre mood that hovered somewhere between loneliness and longing for Robin, he was more than usually susceptible. Add to that the whisky he’d consumed and the length of time it had been since he’d been to bed with anyone, and he hadn’t really had a hope of resisting.

So now here he was, waiting for the crap to start again. He glanced across at the bedside clock. Shit, it was almost half past eight. Robin would be in the office soon. He rolled out of bed as quietly as he could and went to shower.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Charlotte was up and dressed, looking at him with a mixture of triumph and defiance. But to his surprise, she didn’t seem to want to score points or gloat, at least not out loud. She dropped her gaze from his and collected her things, bag and coat and shoes scattered across his living room floor where they had been dropped or kicked off. She flushed a little but didn’t say anything, and nor did she try to approach him. She stood awkwardly for a moment, then abruptly spoke in a softer voice than he was expecting.

“Goodbye, Bluey.”

There wasn’t a lot to be said in return. “Goodbye, Charlotte,” he said, and she left. Strike hurriedly pulled on clothes and ran the towel over his hair. Almost nine o’clock now. He made his way slowly down the stairs to the office. He’d have to file last night under “things to think about later”. They had a busy day of client meetings lined up.

He could hear voices as he approached the office door. Was their first client early? He pushed open the door to see Robin and Ilsa at Robin’s desk, and remembered in a flash that Ilsa was freelancing as a consultant for Robin on corporate law for her ongoing pursuit of the source of Corporate Guy’s leak.

He smiled at them both, but was met with a carefully neutral look from Robin as she held out his coffee, and an outright glare from Ilsa.

“Corm,” his old friend began, and he knew at once he was in trouble, “why did we just pass Charlotte on the stairs? What the fuck? How long has this been going on?”

 

 

 


	2. Ilsa on the warpath

There was a pause. Ilsa was still glaring. “This is where you’re supposed to say something along the lines of “it’s not what it looks like”,” she said.

Strike scowled. “Well, I can’t,” he said. “It’s exactly what it fucking looks like.” He took his coffee from Robin and stomped through to his office, angry at Ilsa for being right but mostly at himself for screwing up.

Ilsa followed him. “Corm...” She pushed the door to behind her and approached his desk.

Strike sighed and sat down heavily at the desk. “Leave it, Ilsa,” he said. “There’s no big secret thing going on. We’re not back together. It was one night, she just turned up late last night and I was slightly pissed. Nothing more to it.” He rubbed his temples. His headache was worsening.

“Oh, you idiot,” she said. “No relapsing, remember? You know what she’s like, do you really want to go back to all that crap?”

“Obviously not,” Strike snapped. “It just happened. It’s not against the law, you know, no matter how stupid it was.”

Ilsa sighed. She lowered her voice to a fierce whisper. “Didn’t you just tell Nick the other night that you have feelings for Robin?” she hissed. “This isn’t going to help in that direction.”

Strike buried his face in his hands. “I know that,” he said. “For fuck’s sake, Ilsa, this wasn’t planned. I’m an idiot, I accept that. But I can’t undo it.”

Ilsa shook her head. “You certainly are an idiot,” she said, more softly now.

Strike looked up at her, and her heart softened further at the regret she could see in his face. “What did Robin say?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she replied. “You know how discreet she is. She raised a very surprised eyebrow,and carried right on talking about the case once Charlotte was out of earshot.”

Strike sighed again. “Well, what’s done is done,” he said. “I just have to hope that all Charlotte was after was a revenge shag for some slight of Jago’s and she’ll go back to ignoring me.”

“Be careful, Corm,” Ilsa said. “It’s entirely possible this is all a game. She wants to lull you into thinking you guys can have some kind of no-strings thing as part of a plan to reel you back in.”

“Yes, thank you, Ilsa, I’m aware of what she’s capable of,” Strike said. “I have a little more perspective on her than I used to. Last night was... a blip.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say out loud to his happily married friend that he had just wanted the sex, the distraction from thoughts of Robin, something to help him sleep. Hardly acceptable reasons to tumble into bed with his ex. _It was not my finest moment,_ he thought, ashamed.

Ilsa half-smiled and shook her head. “Got to go, or I’ll be late for work,” she said. “You’ll be hearing from Nick about this.”

Strike rolled his eyes. “I’m sure,” he said.

 

 


	3. Walking

Strike didn’t normally take a lunch break, preferring to eat at his desk and work through. But today he decided some head space was needed, and so he took himself and his cigarettes for a long, slow walk around nearby streets, smoking and thinking.

Images of Charlotte filled his head. There had barely been any conversation. A little small talk, a spurious explanation as to how she came to be on his doorstep at 11pm - not a word of which he had believed - and then she had kissed him. He’d made a half-hearted attempt to stop her, but she’d known he didn’t mean it. They’d progressed quite quickly from the office to his flat upstairs. After 16 years together, on and off, their bodies had remembered one another, and the sex was as good as it had always been. Charlotte knew exactly how to please him, and he her.

He shook his head. He understood Ilsa’s fear - she and Nick had watched helplessly as he had gone back to Charlotte again and again over the years. But this was different. All that had happened before he had met Robin. He had finally met someone who shared his passion for the job, who enjoyed his company, liked him, looked up to him, didn’t make demands on him. He had indeed admitted, first to himself and then to Nick, that his feelings for her had grown beyond friendship. But she was much more recently single than him and much younger, and he didn’t want to push her. He had no reason to suspect she felt any more than friendship for him and he was afraid of ruining a very good working relationship. So they had stayed friends and no more, a situation he found more and more difficult to deal with as time went on.

 _None of this is a good enough reason to sleep with your ex,_ he told himself. He sighed. It was done now.

His phone pinged, and he drew it out of his pocket with some trepidation, but it wasn’t Charlotte. It was Nick, saying simply, “WTF Oggy!!!” Strike grimaced and slid the phone back into his pocket again, and lit another cigarette. 

 

 


	4. Robin

By six o’clock their busy day was finally finished. Strike glanced up from his final case file to see Robin in the doorway.

“Come on, you,” she said. “You look like you need a pint. Tottenham?”

Strike sighed, a little reluctant. The last thing he needed was another grilling. But Robin didn’t look angry, and he had never known her to poke her nose into his private life. He still felt slightly ashamed of his behaviour. But a quiet pint in the pub with Robin was always a welcome prospect.

They strolled down to the Tottenham, and Robin bought the drinks. She put his pint on the table in front of him, removed her coat and sat down and looked at him. He could have sworn a small smile was playing around the corners of her mouth.

There was a pause, awkwardness hanging in the air, and then Robin suddenly grinned. “So, did you get a real bollocking from Ilsa?” she asked.

Strike sighed. “Yup,” he said, “and a follow-up by text from Nick. And deservedly so, I guess. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Robin winked at him. “I’m guessing you weren’t,” she said, and he gave a rueful grin. He was a little surprised not to be getting disapproval from her too.

Another small pause, and Robin suddenly spoke again. “I slept with Matthew,” she said.

Strike barked out a laugh. Robin never failed to surprise him. “That is totally not what I was expecting you to say,” he said. He paused, unsure whether he was supposed to be asking for details. But Robin went on.

“It was a month or so after we broke up. He asked me to call in at the flat one evening after work. He had a box of a few things of mine he’d found about the place, and there were some papers to sign, to transfer the lease of the flat into his name only, that kind of thing.”

She sighed, remembering. “It was quite a nice evening, actually. I think we’d both decided to be pleasant and not fight, and most of the big stuff was sorted anyway, or on the way to being sorted. I knew he was seeing Sarah again already but I didn’t really care by then. He was making pasta, invited me to stay for tea, and we ended up splitting a bottle of wine, and...”

“The thing is,” she went on, “it wasn’t even about passion or anything like that. Or revenge, though I can’t say it doesn’t please me a little bit that he cheated on Sarah with me.” She grinned, and Strike smiled back, dipping his head to acknowledge the thought. “It was more about... familiarity, and maybe loneliness? We’d been together for so long, and I guess I’m quite a tactile person. I’d just missed being hugged, being held, holding someone else.”

Strike snorted. “That sounds much more excusable than what I’ve done, which was all about sex and nothing else,” he said. Robin flushed a little but nodded. “I don’t even like her any more,” he said. “Can’t stand her, in fact. But we always had good sex. It was the entire rest of the relationship that was a complete train wreck. And she just turned up, and offered...”

He sighed. “And now no doubt I will pay the price. There will have been some ulterior motive, some plan she’s got.”

Robin grinned. “Well, you’ll just have to be firm,” she said, cheerfully. “She does actually have a husband now, so she’s not really your problem. Although you have kind of invited her to be,” she said cheekily, and Strike laughed.

“But anyway,” she went on. “What I mean is, I understand. Exes are... familiar. Easy. It’s like putting an old coat back on, it just fits. Even when you know it’s not the right thing to do, or something you ever want to do again.”

Strike gazed at her. He’d expected... what? Anger? No, that wasn’t Robin’s style. He’d kind of assumed she wouldn’t mention it. He certainly hadn’t expected a similar confession, and understanding. Another aspect of her to admire and be surprised by. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing he could kiss her. _That would be even more than the usual amount of inappropriate tonight,_ he thought.

She put her head on one side. “Can I ask you something?” she asked.

He smiled. “Fire away,” he said.

“Do you regret it?”

Strike thought for a minute. “Yeah,” he said, finally. “I did it for all the wrong reasons, and it’s pretty shitty to sleep with someone you don’t even like just for the sex.” He looked at her sideways. “Do you regret sleeping with Matthew?”

Robin pondered too. “Not now,” she said. “I did the next day, big time. I’ve never told anyone else it happened. But we never mentioned it between us, and I’ve kind of accepted it now. I won’t be doing it again, though.” Her mind wandered, remembering that she had still thought herself attracted to Matthew then, albeit angry with him. How long ago that seemed now, when suddenly she seemed to prefer broad shoulders and a deep voice and chest hair springing from the top of a shirt... She shook her head. _Stop_ , she told herself. _Your partner is the one guy you can’t have_.

There was a pause, and then Robin asked about one of Strike’s client interviews, and the conversation moved to work-related matters.

 

 

 


	5. The Station

“I need to get home,” Robin said presently. “Angela’s doing me dinner tonight, she’s got a new recipe she wants to try out.”

“I’ll walk you up to the Tube,” Strike said. He was privately planning to come back to the pub for a couple more escapist pints, and vaguely wondered about texting Shanker. But he could do the chivalrous thing and see Robin to her train first.

They strolled up the road, and to his surprise Robin tucked her arm into his. They walked in companionable quiet for a while. She wasn’t sure why she had taken his arm. Their conversation tonight had reminded her that she did still miss physical contact with people. _He’s got his own stuff going on_ , she thought. Suddenly it didn’t feel unsafe or inappropriate to be arm in arm with him. She was glad he’d confided in her. “How long will it take Ilsa and Nick to forgive you?” she asked, smiling.

Strike mused on her question. “I think once they’re sure it was just a one-off they will,” he said. “They’re always afraid I’ll go back to her, because I did so many times.”

Robin nodded. They’d reached the Tube and she let him go. “I’ll put in a good word for you,” she said, and on impulse she reached up to hug him.

Strike drew a deep breath at the feeling of her arms around him, and cautiously hugged her back. This was new, but he liked it. She pulled back a little and grinned up at him. “Ilsa’s a softie, she’ll soon come round,” she added.

Strike wasn’t sure how it happened, but suddenly he was kissing her. Had he made the move or had she? Perhaps it was mutual. His heart pounding, he moved his lips over hers, his arms already around her pulling her closer. He felt her sigh against him, pressing closer, her arms still around his neck. Her mouth opened to his and she pulled him closer, and he found his hand sliding up, his fingers in her hair.

Robin suddenly pulled away. “Cormoran, stop,” she whispered, shaking. “Sorry. We can’t.”

He looked at her, searching her face, and was surprised to see tears suddenly in her eyes. “What is it?” he asked, softly. “I...” he paused. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long. Do you not?”

“Oh, Cormoran,” she said, and he could hear the upset in her trembling voice. “I do...” she took a deep breath. “I like you, I really do. But we can’t. _I_ can’t.”

He frowned, puzzled, and she sighed. “I can’t get into another relationship with an ex lurking in the background,” she said. “I can’t be always wondering when she’s next going to pop up. I thought I could live with the Sarah thing, but it ate away inside of me and drove us apart.”

Strike groaned and pulled her into a hug. “You have nothing to worry about with Charlotte,” he said. “That was just a blip. I want you, Robin.”

She pulled back abruptly, and the tears were spilling down her cheeks now. “You don’t get it, do you?” she said, and he winced at the pain on her face. “That’s exactly what Matthew used to say.”

She turned around and walked into the station, leaving him stood on the street, his heart frozen.

 

 

 


	6. Reflections

Strike didn’t text Shanker in the end. He returned to the Tottenham alone and parked himself in a corner to glare at a pint of bitter and berate himself for royally screwing everything up. Time for a bit of honest self-reflection, he thought, grimly.

Charlotte. Why? Why had he even allowed that to happen? What moment of weakness had existed in his head or heart that had allowed that to even briefly become a possibility again? If he was ever to have a hope of convincing Robin that it wouldn’t happen again (and that seemed vanishingly unlikely) then he had to convince himself first.

Robin. Why on Earth had he allowed that to happen on the one night she’d be most justified in suspecting his motives? It was all he could do not to groan and bury his face in his hands sat right there in the pub. What kind of guy sleeps with his ex one night and makes a move on his business partner the next day? Self-loathing crawled up his spine. What must Robin be thinking, he thought. What a crappy way to treat her.

And how was he going to untangle all of this and regain Robin’s trust and respect? The memory of the look in her eyes at the station haunted him. The last thing he ever wanted to do was cause her more pain after all she’d already been through. And to think he had behaved like Matthew in her eyes. A brief stab of anger that she could compare him to Matthew was quickly swamped by self-recrimination. I’ve behaved like him, he thought. Okay, I wasn’t technically unfaithful to anyone. But she’d be within her rights to question my feelings for her based on my behaviour.

The Charlotte question was the easiest to answer to himself. A thorough and honest examination of his heart found no trace of lingering feelings for her. Getting to know Robin, her sunshine and warmth, had well and truly cured him of his long-held fascination for Charlotte’s glacial beauty and ice-sharp edges. And look at her now, he thought. She’s finally married, to someone much more from her circle than I ever was, much more approved of by her family and friends, much more suited to her, and still she can’t settle. I was never going to be able to fix her, this is just who she is and always will be.

To Robin he owed an apology, at the very least for dreadful timing. Did he regret the kiss? Not at all for how he felt about her. But possibly yes for the damage it might have done to their working relationship and friendship.

She’d said she liked him, though. And she had kissed him back. These things gave him hope that all was not lost. But for terrible timing and the spectre of Charlotte, things might have been very different. For this thought he mentally kicked himself all the harder for the night with his ex. And with Charlotte’s unpredictability, he couldn’t promise Robin that she was gone for good. How was he to convince Robin that he wouldn’t fall for her charms again, though?

His pint finished, he went and ordered another, sat back down with it. He took a metaphorical deep breath. Truth facing time. Would he fall into bed with Charlotte again? If the situation stayed the way it was? He forced himself to honestly assess his feelings, and was surprised to find that the answer was in fact no. He realised he had been assuming that he would always harbour a weakness for Charlotte. With their history and the way things had ended, with the pattern they had long established of breaking up and getting back together, he had thought that this would always be something he’d be in danger of falling back into, like a recovering alcoholic who must forever guard against a lapse. If he was honest - and this was the aim of this evening of self-reflection - he had assumed that that was what was happening when she’d appeared at his door. He had spent the night with her simply because he had presumed on some deep down level that he wanted to. And it had in fact led him to the discovery that he didn’t. It was as though he could suddenly see the slow disintegration of their relationship with new eyes, that what once had seemed like a deep connection bordering on obsession now with hindsight just looked like dysfunction. And had done for much longer than he had ever before admitted to himself. When had they last been truly happy together? It was years. Suddenly he found it hard to remember what he had found attractive about her. It was as though he was finally cured. Bit bloody late to have worked that out, he told himself. But still it was as though a weight he didn’t know he’d been carrying had been lifted.

And Robin. What to do about her. He was angry with himself for upsetting her, and it hurt him to think he had dropped in her estimation. He resolved to apologise, but how? He toyed with the idea of a text, but to say what? To apologise and request a chance to explain himself?

Absorbed in his thoughts, he jumped when another pint was plonked unceremoniously by his elbow. He looked up to see Nick settling himself on the stool opposite. “Thought I’d find you here,” his old friend said, “when you didn’t answer your door.”

Strike sighed. “I’ve had the lecture from Ilsa,” he said.

“I’m not here to lecture,” Nick said, raising his pint a little in a gesture of solidarity. “I’m here to ask if you’re all right.”

Strike sighed again. “Would you believe me if I told you I’ve fucked it up even worse since last night?” he asked heavily.

Nick looked at him. “How is that even possible?” he asked, sceptically.

“I somehow managed to kiss Robin,” Strike said grimly. “And she told me in no uncertain terms that she has no interest in another bloke with ex issues, and probably now thinks I’m a heel who bounces from shagging his ex to trying it on with his partner in the space of 24 hours.”

Nick looked at him for a long moment, and put his pint back down. He shook his head in disbelief. “Okay, you have indeed managed to make things even worse,” he said. “Oggy, mate, what are you doing? Is it a full moon or something?”

“That is just what I’ve been asking myself for the last hour,” Strike said. “The only positive thing I seem to have got from this whole sorry mess is that for the first time since I was 19 I seem to have finally got Charlotte out of my system. I don’t know if last night cured me, or if I was already cured but needed last night to see it, but there it is. But that doesn’t matter in the least, because I’ve already fucked things up with Robin and I’ll never get her to see that I’m not a guy who’s eventually going to drift into the arms of another woman like her husband did.”

It was Nick’s turn to sigh. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Not much I can do,” Strike said. “I’ve been an idiot. I just need to apologise and hope she can forgive me and we can still be friends and work together without it being hideously awkward.”

“Speaking of being an idiot...” Nick said, and then he paused. “Okay, only your best mate can ask you this, so I’m just going to say it. We all know what Charlotte is capable of. Please tell me you used a condom.”

Strike barked out a humourless laugh. “I might be an idiot, but I’m not that big of an idiot,” he said. “Of course I did.”

“Okay, enough said,” Nick said, relieved. “That’s not something you want coming back to haunt you.”

There was a pause while they sipped their pints.

“Has Ilsa forgiven me yet?” Strike asked, smiling a little. Nick grinned.

“She will,” he said. “You know she loves you. She’s just really got her heart set on you and Robin getting together, so this was a bit of a shock. I take it she doesn’t know about you and Robin?”

Strike shook his head. “Only happened an hour or so ago,” he said. “Still processing it myself.”

Another pause, and then Nick decided Strike had had enough of a grilling for one day and moved the conversation on to football. They finished their pints and parted ways, and Strike trudged back to his flat on Denmark Street. After much deliberation, he eventually sent Robin a very brief text.

“Really sorry about this evening. It won’t happen again. C.”


	7. Saturday

There was no answer from Robin. Strike spent his Saturday morning doing various necessary jobs - trips to the launderette and supermarket - and had planned to watch the football on television later, but the afternoon stretched long and empty in front of him, his mind too busy, and as always he drifted to his desk and took refuge in work.

He couldn’t work out what he thought Monday might bring. Sometimes he thought Robin might be icily polite. Other times he thought she’d pretend nothing had happened. Occasionally he feared she’d hand in her notice. The silence from his phone continued, and he was determined not to contact her again.

He worked all afternoon, burying himself in their latest new case, going over every bit of evidence they had so far to check he hadn’t missed any potential angles. Empty tea mugs collected on his desk, and cigarette butts piled up in the ashtray. He had his window open and the one by Robin’s desk, and the adjoining door propped open to try to draw air through to dissipate the smoke. Traffic noise drifted up from the street. Afternoon turned to early evening and he began to wonder what dinner would be.

He was so focused on the files in front of him, he didn’t hear footsteps on the metal stairs approaching, and was startled when the outer office door opened. He couldn’t see it from his desk, and stood to go and see who had arrived, but Charlotte was in his office before he had taken two steps. His heart sank. He’d been hoping the other night was a one-off and he’d not hear from her again. Probably too much to hope for, he thought.

“Hi, Bluey,” she said, softly. Her lips curled into a seductive smile, calculated to tease. He looked at her and wondered how he had ever found her alluring.

“I’m working,” he said curtly, indicating the files spread out on his desk. “How did you get in?”

“I waited for the guy downstairs to leave, grabbed the door,” she said. “I thought you might not answer this time if I texted.”

“You thought right,” he said, a little more harshly than he’d intended. He just wanted her to go away. “What do you want?”

She moved closer, smiling archly up at him. Perfume that had once smelled exotic was suddenly cloying. “I thought we might spend the evening together,” she said, huskily. “I so enjoyed the other night. I’d forgotten how much better you are in bed than Jago.”

Strike rolled his eyes. “Except when you’re angry with me, when you tell me he’s better,” he said. “I’m not interested, Charlotte. Go back to your husband.”

“I’m thinking of getting a divorce,” she said. “He’s so boring. You and I always had much more fun together.” Strike raised a cynical eyebrow. It had been years since they had had anything approximating fun.

“I’m not discussing this with you, Charlotte,” he said firmly. “Divorce him or don’t, it makes no difference to me. The other night was a mistake, you caught me at a low ebb. It won’t be happening again.” And he meant it. For the first time, he thought, he truly meant it. There was no nagging sense of self-doubt, no fear that he might be tempted in the future. It was truly over, in a way that it hadn’t been, not one hundred percent, before now, despite what he had told himself.

She sensed it, he could tell. She had enjoyed suddenly feeling again that she could snap her fingers and he was hers. She pouted prettily and stepped closer, her fingers reaching up to toy with the buttons on his shirt.

“Why don’t we go and get a drink?” she suggested. “Relax you a little. You might feel more in the mood then.”

“I won’t,” he said, gently but firmly pushing her hands away.

“How can you be so sure?” she said, casting him a sideways look that used to turn his heart over. “It’s me, remember, Bluey?” She leaned a little closer and he knew she was going to try to kiss him again.

On impulse, Strike decided that a version of the truth was probably his best defence. “I’ve met someone else,” he said abruptly. That surprised her and she stepped back. She’d always been able to lure him away from other women before.

“Who?” she demanded.

“That’s none of your business,” he said. She paused, wrong-footed. He could see her calculating brain working, looking for an angle. She seemed so transparent suddenly. How did I ever find her so fascinating, he wondered.

“Well, it didn’t stop you the other night,” she said, triumphantly. “She can’t be that special.”

“She’s everything,” Strike heard himself saying. “And I didn’t think I had a hope with her, which is why I was... vulnerable. I’m sorry, Charlotte, but all the other night did for me was serve as a reminder that we were over a long time ago and should have stayed so.” He braced himself, fully expecting her to hit him or find something to throw at him. But to his surprise, she laughed. It was a harsh, grating laugh, angry and mocking.

“Do you love her?” she asked, incredulous.

For just a moment, it was Strike who suddenly felt wrong-footed. Did he? Did he love Robin? He had paused for a beat too long. Charlotte knew him too well. “Oh, God, how pathetic,” she said. “Some girl you’re pining after. Come on, Bluey, I can take your mind off her.”

Strike shook his head. “Do you know, I don’t think you can,” he said, slowly. “Please, Charlotte, just go away. We’re over.”

She glared at him. She’d never been unable to manipulate him even in some small way before. He’d succeeded in keeping her out of his life by ignoring her last time. This time he was facing her down, and he could see in her eyes that she knew she was beaten. There was a heavy pause.

“Well, fuck you, then,” she said, turning away. “She’s welcome to you. You’re not so much of a catch anyway. At least Jago is successful.”

“Success isn’t just about money,” he said quietly. “But you never did understand that.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she said. “Don’t you dare lecture me.” She marched away, heading for the office door. “I hope he’s paying you well enough to put up with this crappy job,” he heard her say, and she slammed out of the office. His heart hammering, Strike took a step forward.

Robin was standing by the coat rack, staring at him.

 

 


	8. Resolution

There was a long pause. The only sounds in the stuffy, smoky office were the usual traffic rumble and the click of Charlotte’s heels fading down the metal stairs. Strike wondered if his heart was beating as loudly as it seemed to him. How long had Robin been standing there? Why oh why did she keep turning up when Charlotte was there? And how much had she heard?

The silence extended, getting sharper as it got longer. Strike had no idea what to say. Robin fidgeted a little and dropped her gaze. She looked heart-wrenchingly beautiful, determined and a little vulnerable. How had he ever thought Charlotte more attractive?

How much had she heard?

He moved towards her, unable to stay away, but stopped in his doorway. He wasn’t sure how much closer he’d be welcome to go. “Robin, I’m sorry,” he said. “About everything. I’ve made a mess of everything.”

Robin looked at him, nodding her agreement, her clear blue-grey eyes meeting his. So cool, so beautiful, but with a hint of... something he couldn’t place. Something deeper.

“Your text...” she began. “I typed loads of answers, but I deleted them all. So I thought I’d...” she tailed off. She gazed at him, her eyes searching his face.

How much had she heard?

Her gaze slid away from his. “You said it won’t happen again. I...” Her eyes flicked back to him and away again. A slight flush crept up her neck. “I don’t want it to never happen again,” she said quietly. She glanced back again, shy.

Strike’s heart lurched. A tiny shoot of hope suddenly blossomed in his chest. He took half a step towards her, but she stepped back.

“But...” she went on, then paused again. She glanced at the door through which Charlotte had so recently departed. “Maybe not now. Not yet. Just... not never.” She sighed a little, looked back at him, willing him to understand.

Strike nodded. His heart was racing. He tried to breathe evenly. Against all probability, he appeared to be getting a second chance.

How much had she heard?

“Oh, this is all too weird,” she said in a rush. “Can we just go back to how we were before? Be friends again. And maybe... see how it goes?”

Strike nodded again, and a slow smile crept across his face. “Friends again,” he agreed. How far could he push his luck? Fuck it, he thought. “Pub, then?” he suggested. She laughed a little, nodding in her turn. Her eyes twinkled at him. He was forgiven.

How much had she heard?

Strike grabbed his jacket from the peg in his office and his cigarettes from his desk, his heart still fluttering, unable to quite believe that she didn’t appear upset or angry at the way she’d been treated. They descended the stairs in a slightly awkward silence and set off down the street. Gradually as they walked the familiar route, a more companionable quiet stole over them, familiar, comfortable. Friends again.

Then Robin’s hand slid into his as they walked along, just for a moment. Her hand was cool and slim in his. She squeezed his fingers briefly, and dropped her hand away again. They carried on walking. Strike risked a glance at her profile. Her eyes were inscrutable, facing forward, but a tiny hint of a fond smile played around her lips.

She had heard enough.

They strolled to the pub.

 

 

 

 


End file.
